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“Yes.”
“But your husband didn’t go!” Monk pointed out. “He was at a party until long after midnight. You told the police that you attended it with him. Was that not true?”
“Yes, it was true. I…I thought my father must have refused to meet Alan. He was…stubborn.” Her gaze did not waver from his.
“Is that what Mr. Argyll said?” he asked.
She hesitated, but only for a moment. “Yes.”
“I see.” He did see. He had never supposed that Alan Argyll intended to shoot Havilland himself. He had paid the assassin with the black hair and the narrow-bridged nose to do that. “Thank you, Mrs. Argyll.”
“Do you suppose he paid the money himself, or had someone else whom he trusted do it?” Monk asked when they were outside, matching his step to Runcorn’s on the icy pavement.
“Toby?”
“Probably, but not necessarily. Who would even know where to find an assassin for money?”
Runcorn thought for a while, walking in silence. “Whom else would he trust?” he said at last.
“Can you trac
e the funds?” Monk asked him.
“Unless he’s been saving it up penny by penny over the years, certainly I can. Havilland found something and Alan Argyll couldn’t wait. He had to have got the money out of the bank, or wherever he kept it, and paid the assassin within a day or two of the actual murder. It’s my case, Monk. I’ve got the men to put on it, and the authority to look at bank accounts or whatever it takes. I’ll find out where Argyll was every minute of the week before Havilland was shot. And after. Unless he’s a fool, he won’t have paid all of it until the deed was done.”
“What do you want me to do?” The words were not easy for Monk to say, but Runcorn’s plan made sense. He could deploy his men to search, to question, to force out answers that Monk could not. And Monk needed to return to Wapping and start earning some of the loyalty he was going to need from his own men. Havilland’s death was nothing to do with them.
Runcorn smiled. “Go back to your river,” he replied. “I’ll send you a message.”
After two days the letter came, written in Runcorn’s careful, overly neat hand. It was brought by a messenger and given to Monk personally.
Dear Monk,
Traced the money. Came from Alan Argyll’s bank, but he gave it to Sixsmith for expenses. Argyll can account for all his time, both before and after the event. Clever devil. No second sum paid. Could be lots of reasons for that—but if Sixsmith cheated him, then he’s a fool!
I am sure Argyll is the man behind it, but it was Sixsmith who actually handed it over, whatever he believed he was paying for. Followed his movements, found where he did it. I have no choice but to arrest him straightaway. I am not happy. We have the servant, not the master, but I have to charge him. We still have work to do.
Runcorn
Monk thanked the messenger and scribbled a note of acknowledgment back.
Dear Runcorn,
I understand, but we damned well do have work to do! Everything I can do, I will. Count on me.
Monk
He gave it to the messenger. Then when the door was closed, he swore with a pent-up fury that shocked him.
Argyll had cheated them. They had followed the trail, and ended by being forced to arrest a man they knew was innocent, while Argyll watched them and laughed. Damn him!
EIGHT
It was three days before Monk had time to consider the Havilland case again. There was a large fire in one of the warehouses in the Pool of London, and the arsonists had attempted to escape by water. It was brought to a successful conclusion, but by the end of the second day Monk and his men were exhausted, filthy, and cold to the bone.
At half past eight, with the wind howling outside and the woodstove smelling of smoke, Monk was sitting in his office and finishing the last of his report when there was a knock on the door. He answered, and Clacton walked in, closing the door behind him. He came over to stand in front of the desk, looking casual and more elegant than perhaps he was aware.
“What is it?” Monk asked.
